


Love Less

by poetzproblem



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Friendship, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn has less than a month before Rachel leaves for New York and starts meeting new people, and making new friends, and dating again; all while Quinn is eighty miles away in New Haven. She really wants to start fresh at Yale, and give herself a real, fighting chance at happiness, and that means finally being honest—with everyone—even if it takes one more little deception to get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Application

**Author's Note:**

> This is a two part story, broken for length. It's for a prompt from TS, which I don't normally do because my writing usually veers off course from the initial idea. I'm sure this isn't what she expected, but it's where the muse took me. I'm sure you'll be able to guess the prompt soon enough. It's only quickly edited, so as always, if you catch mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them.

 

_If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more._  
_But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me._  
_~Jane Austen, Emma_

* * *

**Part I: Application**

* * *

It's late—well past midnight—and Quinn is sitting at her desk with bleary, weary eyes, squinting at the gray on black screen that's casting a soft glow in her darkened bedroom. She's already entered her name, her address, and her current occupation of full-time college student. Her fingers hover over the keys as she watches the cursor blink mockingly under the text that says  _name of the person you have a crush on_. On a shaky breath, she presses down on the keys, rapidly typing in the letters that seal her fate and quickly tabbing on to the next line before she gives herself too much time to think about what she's doing.

She really hasn't been thinking since she clicked into this page, and truthfully, she doesn't want to. She's spent too many years thinking and over-thinking, and it hasn't gotten her anything but a headache. She's seven weeks away from a brand new start— _another_  brand new start—and she's going to make this one count. It's a whim, a flight of fancy, a desperate last second Hail Mary—she wasn't just looking pretty while she was standing along the sidelines at all those football games. This is definitely not something that anyone would expect Quinn Fabray to do.

She hesitates again when she's asked to classify her relationship with her crush;  _acquaintance, friend, best friend,_ or  _other_. She resists the urge to click  _other_ , because she doesn't particularly want to type 'rival turned kind of friend with whom I always seem to share these deep meaningful moments in odd places' in the line requiring an explanation. so she toggles back and forth between  _friend_ and  _best friend_  for thirty-eight seconds before she finally settles on  _friend_.

After that, things get complicated, because she  _does_ have to describe their relationship and rationality settles in until she's pointing the mouse at the little red ex at the top of the page, ready to forget this whole insane notion. But then she thinks about moving to New Haven and those Metro North passes and having to silently watch some college guy breeze in and so easily take the chance that she's too afraid to take. Her finger moves away from the mouse, and then she's typing again, pouring out all of their complicated history into the tiny spaces on the website. She doesn't allow herself to hesitate at all when she hits  _submit._

It's only when the confirmation screen appears that her stomach bottoms out completely and her lungs constrict and she experiences a desperate urge to undo what's she's done. Nervous laughter trickles into the quiet room, and she drops her head into her hands and presses the palms hard against her eyes.

 _They'll never pick me anyway_ , she silently reasons. She laughs again, this time feeling much calmer, and she powers down her computer.

She falls face first into her mattress and closes her eyes, forcing her mind into a pleasant, fuzzy blank. She doesn't consider that the six wine coolers she drank at Santana's house earlier might be responsible for her quick descent into sleep, and she certainly doesn't consider that they're to blame for her sudden bout of bravery.

**xx**

The phone call comes in early August, long after Quinn has mostly forgotten about her foolish flight of fancy. She's lounging on a chaise by Santana's swimming pool, rereading  _Emma_  for the twelfth time—possibly more, she's kind of lost count—and making thin comparisons between her own life and the characters, only she's cast herself in the role of Mr. Knightley.

She picks up the phone, expecting it to be Rachel, and prepares to hear another mini-rant about the lack of quality performers in her summer theater group or a semi-panicked speech about her inability to make any kind of positive contact with her NYADA roommate (who is apparently ignoring her existence, although Quinn suspects that the girl is just frightened for her life after Rachel's initial five-thousand word introductory email).

These conversations have become a habit, and Quinn knows that they're mostly a coping mechanism for Rachel at this point. She came home from New York in the last week of June with a fake smile, dull eyes, and a naked ring finger after touring the campus, sightseeing, and generally trying to get over the fact that Finn Hudson had called off their wedding, broken her heart, and immediately put her on a train to New York without bothering to discuss any of it with her beforehand. Quinn was pissed on Rachel's behalf when she'd found out the extent of Finn's deceit, but more so once she'd actually mustered up the courage to call Rachel and ask how New York was treating her. They'd talked for two hours. Well, Rachel had cried for fifty-three minutes, and then they'd talked. They've talked every day since.

Quinn is trying to be a good friend, which isn't particularly easy when all she wants to do is remind Rachel that she was right about everything and that Rachel should have listened to her back in January. It also isn't easy when she's recently fallen headfirst into the realization that she's slightly in love with her supposed friend.

Quinn knows that Rachel isn't over Finn. She even knows that Rachel doesn't really consider the relationship completely over, claiming that nothing is really decided. Quinn thinks that the fact that Finn is already at Fort Benning and hasn't bothered to call Rachel since he canceled their wedding is a pretty obvious indication that they're broken up. Everyone but Rachel agrees.

Still, in the past two months, one thing has become clear; the mention of New York never fails to brighten Rachel's eyes and turn her smile blinding. In those moments that she talks about the city, Finn Hudson is nowhere in her thoughts. Kurt thinks it's just a matter of time before she'll get over him. Santana thinks she needs to find a real man, and once she does, she won't remember what the hell she ever saw in Finncompetent.

It's that notion that drove Quinn to drown her sorrows in wine coolers on a sweltering, July afternoon, ignoring Santana and Brittany as they'd made out on the sofa and focusing instead on the marathon of pseudo-hip reality show reruns playing that day on MTV. And it's that notion that had her clicking into the web page in the dark of the night. And it's ultimately that notion that leads to her holding her phone, listening to some man introduce himself as Josh Allouche and congratulate her for being chosen for season three of  _Friendzone_.

Quinn nearly drops the phone. She sucks in a breath and holds it, shifting in the chaise until her back is turned to Santana as Josh Allouche starts talking about schedules and camera tests and contacting Rachel Berry. Quinn whimpers, and Josh pauses on the other end of the call, asking if she's okay. When she fails to answer immediately, he asks if she's still interested in participating, and Quinn forces herself to breathe again. She has to fight against her basic self-preservation instinct to say  _no_ , hang up the phone, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But then she remembers that she has less than a month before Rachel leaves for New York and starts meeting new people and making new friends and dating again—all while Quinn is eighty miles away in New Haven. She remembers that she still hasn't told Rachel how she really feels about her. She remembers that she hasn't managed to come out to her mother or any of her friends. And then she remembers that she really, really wants to start fresh at Yale and give herself a real, fighting chance at happiness, and that means finally being honest—with everyone—even if it takes one more little deception to get there.

So Quinn clears her throat and manages to squeak out, "Yes. Yes. I'm interested. Thank you. I didn't…I wasn't expecting," she trails off, shaking her head. "Thank you," she says again, and Josh chuckles.

"It's okay, Quinn. I'm used to hearing just about every reaction you can imagine when I make these phone calls. It's actually one of my favorite parts of the job." He goes on to inform her that he'll send a follow up email with all the details and that the crew is tentatively scheduled to arrive in Lima at the end of next week.

"So soon?" she asks, mouth dry and hands shaking.

"Well, you did indicate on your application that you'd both be starting college at the end of the month, so we put you first on our schedule. Is that a problem?"

"No. No problem," she whispers and then thanks him again. When the call disconnects, she clutches the phone to her racing heart and closes her eyes, excited and terrified and hopeful and dismayed all at the same time.

She finally turns around to find Santana studying her with that same contemplative look that used to signal a pending attempt to stab Quinn in the back and steal her position on the top of the pyramid. Again, Quinn's instinct is to evade and defend, but she's just agreed to go on national television and confess that she's in love with Rachel Berry, so it really doesn't make much difference if Santana finds out about it now or after the camera crew shows up and starts following Quinn around Lima.

So when Santana quirks an eyebrow and asks, "What's up with the mysterious caller routine?," Quinn takes a breath and meets her eyes unblinkingly.

"Do you remember that afternoon we spent watching  _Friendzone_?"

**xx**

Santana thinks that Quinn has lost her mind. She gapes at her for five solid minutes before she manages to speak, and then it's, "What the hell are you thinking?"

She reminds Quinn how she was outed in a television campaign ad and how much it sucked. She reminds Quinn that no one even knows she's into girls, except Santana and Brittany because they actually pay attention to the shit Quinn thinks she's being sneaky about. She reminds Quinn that her big lesbian crush on Rachel Berry, obvious as it has been, is going to completely blindside Rachel because she's an idiot. And she reminds Quinn that Rachel isn't exactly over Finn yet—or exactly into  _girls_.

None of this is any big revelation to Quinn.

"I have to do this, Santana," she quietly insists. "I'm so tired of lying and pretending. I can't spend the rest of my life being Rachel's friend and acting like it doesn't tear my heart to pieces every single time she talks about some new guy that she's met or how much Finn wants her back for the hundredth time," she spits as she cuts an agitated hand through the air before slapping it against the seat of her chaise and curling her fingers into the material. She shakes her head and takes an unsteady breath. "At least this way, I'll know if there's even a chance, and if there isn't, then Rachel will know why I can't hear about any new romances until I've had enough time to get over her."

"And eight million people watch you crash and burn," Santana reminds her far more gently than Quinn expects.

Quinn's heart clenches at the thought, but she's gotten pretty used to disappointment by now, so she sighs and shrugs. "And my mother disowns me and I have to get a job to supplement the scholarship I managed to get for graduating despite being knocked up, and maybe I'll meet a girl at Yale who saw me get crushed on  _Friendzone_  and will offer to mend my broken heart," she finishes with a sad smile. "Or maybe none of that happens, and I just go on with my life. Either way, I'll be out, and I won't have keep living in fear of the moment when everyone finds out the truth about me."

Santana remains silent, but Quinn can tell by the look on her face that she understands. "I just want to live my life honestly, Santana," Quinn confesses, voice breaking against her will, "otherwise I…I'll never really be happy."

"Leave it to Quinn Fabray to go big or go home," Santana half-heartedly jokes, slipping into the space beside her and wrapping her into a one armed hug. "You never can do anything unless it's completely over-the-top."

Quinn huffs out a soundless laugh, because she knows it's true. She didn't just lose her virginity; she got pregnant in the process. She didn't just cheat on one boyfriend, but two, and lied outrageously to both of them. She didn't just lose out on Prom Queen once, but twice—the first time to a gay guy and the second time, she secretly gifted it to Rachel. She didn't just change her image; she annihilated it with pink hair and a tattoo. And she didn't just wreck her car on the way to Rachel's wedding; she wrecked it spectacularly and nearly died in the process. Why shouldn't her coming out be every bit as epic?

"Well, Rachel should appreciate the drama of it all," she whispers, closing her eyes and leaning her head on Santana's shoulder. Go big or go home. She's sure she must be due to win for a change.

**xx**

Two days later, Quinn is thinking that she should have gone home. The email that Josh sent included a release form that Rachel needs to sign before the shoot can be finalized. The premise is simple; tell Rachel that she's agreed to go on a televised dream date and ask if Rachel will agree to let them film her as Quinn's supportive friend. Quinn is banking on Rachel's inherent need for stardom and self-promotion to win out over any concerns she might have. She isn't counting on how protective Rachel has suddenly become of Quinn.

"I simply can't believe that  _you_ , of all people, would agree to this kind of…of…exploitation, Quinn."

Quinn's eyebrow lifts unconsciously as she watches Rachel's hands fly around to emphasize her concerns. "It's just a dating show," she mutters defensively, thinking that her big chance is circling the drain.

"But you don't need to resort to this sort of…reality television drivel!" Quinn flinches at Rachel's opinion, because she kind of likes  _Friendzone_ —although Rachel doesn't realize that's the real name of the show that they're talking about. "You…you're…well, you're  _you_ ," Rachel stutters inelegantly, holding out her hands in supplication. "Anyone would be so honored to have you, Quinn." Her dark eyes take on that soft look of admiration that Quinn both loathes and adores.  _This_  is why she needs to do this, because Rachel doesn't comprehend that each and every one of her innocent compliments is sweet torture to Quinn's aching heart.

Quinn honestly doesn't know how Rachel feels about her. At times, she's so certain that all Rachel wants is friendship, born of admiration for the former, popular head cheerleader. Other times, she'll look at Quinn so intensely or say something that seems far too intimate for simple, platonic friendship, and Quinn will let herself believe that maybe this isn't all one-sided. Rachel sends out so many frustratingly mixed signals that Quinn just wants to shake her and beg her to stop—stop calling her beautiful and stop telling her how good she is and how much she means to her, and God, please stop hugging her like she never wants to let go.

"I just don't understand," Rachel exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "Whom are you so interested in that you'd agree to some awful date for an equally awful television show?" Rachel wants to know, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"You've never even seen the show, Rach. It could be really good," Quinn reasons, side-stepping the question.

"It's on MTV," Rachel scoffs, rolling her eyes. "How good can it really be? And anyway, you deserve so much better than any boy who needs some dream date on a cheap dating show to impress him," she insists, and her eyes are sparkling with endearing sincerity in that way that they always do in moments like this. "You're going to Yale in a few weeks, and," Rachel pauses, offering a small smile that seems just a little bit sad to Quinn, "and you'll meet new people, and you said that you didn't want any anchors from your past weighing you down," she reminds Quinn in an adamant tone. "What changed?"

Quinn sighs. "I changed. Life is too short," she reasons, thinking of her accident and regretting that she mentioned it the moment that she sees the pain flash in Rachel's eyes.

Rachel swallows heavily, glancing away. "I just think you should wait," she admits quietly.

"I'm tired of waiting," Quinn says honestly, and she squashes the urge to remind Rachel that she failed to take Quinn's advice to wait on more than one occasion. "I want to do this, Rachel, and I'd really love it if you would support me."

Rachel stares at Quinn for a long moment, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Why exactly do you need me to be involved in this again?" she asks warily.

Quinn shrugs. "The show wants me to have a friend to talk to on camera before the date. I guess it's easy exposition for them, and I honestly don't trust anyone else not to make me look bad." And that part is the absolute truth. Santana ended up being far more supportive than Quinn had imagined she'd be, but she'd also made it pretty clear that she expects Quinn to humiliate herself on national television. Quinn can only imagine the colorful insults and anecdotes that she'll be all too happy to say on camera if given the opportunity.

"You're not doing this for Joe, are you?" Rachel demands sharply.

Quinn laughs at that, shaking her head. "No. I promise you, it's not for any silly boy that we went to high school with."

Rachel drops her eyes to the floor, briefly chewing on her lip before she finally sighs. "If you're really determined to go through with this ill-advised venture, then I suppose I'll have to agree."

Quinn smiles in relief, unable to resist the urge to close the distance between them and wrap Rachel up in a grateful hug. She loves the way Rachel feels in her arms, but she doesn't let herself linger. "Thank you so much, Rachel. You won't regret this," Quinn says, hoping with everything in her that it will be true.

A genuinely interested smile curves Rachel's lips then. "So, how much screen time do you think I'll have?"

**xx**

The camera crew arrives right on schedule, and Quinn meets the director, Lucas Mertes, who's in his mid-thirties and has surprisingly kind eyes. He asks her about Lima and if there are any places that she and Rachel typically spend a lot of time. Quinn worries her lip, embarrassed to admit that they've spent the majority of the friendship in high school bathrooms and hallways. She shrugs and mentions the  _Lima Bean_ , because they have spent more than a few summer mornings grabbing coffee and bagels and sitting around and chatting like normal teenage girls.

Lucas scopes out the town, and if he's less than impressed with what Lima has to offer, he doesn't say a word. He briefly meets with Rachel and gives her the basics, and Quinn is grateful that Rachel is attempting to behave in a mostly professional manner. She asks a few questions about what's expected of her, but mostly she's obsessing over whether or not this  _'mockery of a television show'_  will treat Quinn respectfully. Lucas raises an eyebrow at that, but he assures her that they'll be very fair to Quinn. Rachel seems appeased by this, and she leaves with a call time of ten o'clock the next morning.

Quinn's call time is significantly earlier.

"We're going to start with your interview and then we'll get some background footage of you and Rachel hanging out today," Lucas explains the next morning when he, his assistant, two cameramen, a boom operator, and a makeup artist arrive on her doorstep. "We'll interview Rachel privately, tomorrow you'll have your moment of truth, and then we'll interview the both of you again after."

Quinn nods, because she pretty much knows how all of this is going to play out. That last interview is either going to be full of happy laughter or miserable tears. She figures that she's such an expert at crying by now that it won't be so hard to do it on camera. Maybe the experience can be something that she'll be able to draw on when she lands her first big, tragic role.

The crew sets up in the corner of Quinn's living room, and she whispers a prayer of thanks to God that she managed to convince her mother to take some vacation time to visit Frannie in Philadelphia. It had been a hard sell, as Judy Fabray had been extra attentive ever since Quinn's punk rock makeover last summer. Quinn had to swear on her financial aid to Yale that she was going to stay away from hair dye and tattoo parlors in her mother's absence.

She nervously fiddles with the hem of her dress as she watches the crew work, glancing in the antique mirror behind the sofa every few minutes to make sure that her hair and makeup are perfect. She looks flawless, except for the sickly pallor of her skin. Her stomach is a hurricane of nerves, and she thinks that she may actually have to make a mad dash for the bathroom to be sick. It's so much worse than the nausea that would catch her unaware during her pregnancy, because she knows that it isn't going away until she confesses everything to Rachel and maybe not even then. Maybe this will be a permanent condition that occurs every time she thinks of this experience.

"We're ready whenever you are, Quinn" Lucas tells her kindly, and she freezes. She's trembling so violently that she doesn't know if she'll be able to stand.

This is such a huge mistake. Why is she doing this? Maybe she can still get out of it. She can call Rachel and tell her not to bother coming to the  _Lima Bean_. She'll tell Lucas that she's sick and can't possibly do this today, which isn't far from the truth. She wonders if they'll just pack everything up and go away quietly or if the network will sue her for breach of contract. She'll have to confess everything to her mother if that happens, and she'll definitely have to say goodbye to any financial support from her parents. Can MTV go after her scholarship money if they go to court? Is this really worth risking Yale over?

She'll be stuck in Lima, and those Metro North passes will go to waste because Rachel won't have anyone to visit in New Haven, so she'll spend every weekend in New York with her new friends, and she still won't know how Quinn feels about her, so she'll throw herself at the first guy who smiles at her, and—

_No. Damn it, no!_

She's not backing out of this. She's  _Quinn Fabray_ , and she's damn well going to get out of the friend zone today, for better or worse

Quinn squares her shoulders and stands, grateful for the fact that her legs hold her up, even if her knees are a little weak. Lucas smiles encouragingly and guides her to the stool that they've set up in front of a black backdrop. He positions her to shoot at the best possible angle, laughingly telling her, "You don't actually have a bad side," while his assistant does a quick lighting test. The vain part of her puffs up with pleasure at the compliment, and she thinks that this can only be a good omen for her future acting career. Then the red light on the camera flashes on and Lucas is nodding. "Okay, Quinn, honey, keep your eyes up on me and not the camera, and just take your time and speak from the heart."

She drags in a heavy breath, swallowing down her anxiety, and runs her tongue across her teeth, taking a few seconds to find her center and compose her thoughts. "Hi, my name is Quinn," she begins a little self-consciously, feeling too much like she's about to embark on some twelve-step program. Maybe she is—after all, she's about to admit that she's powerless to her feelings for Rachel Berry. She smiles softly then. "And I'm in love with my friend, Rachel."

**xx**

Quinn never realized how incredibly staged these kinds of shows really are. They look so organic when you watch them on television, like these people are just going about their business and don't even realize that there's a camera pointed in their faces. She quickly finds out that isn't the case at all. She watches Lucas debrief the staff at the  _Lima Bean_  and force releases and non-disclosure contracts in front of the few patrons who are (un)lucky enough to be there. A few of them refuse and hastily leave the establishment.

Rachel meets them there at ten o'clock on the dot, dressed to the nines with her hair falling in perfect waves and a big, cheesy show smile plastered on her face. It takes Lucas twenty minutes to talk her down from her super, Berry-diva mode, and he cuts Quinn a few incredulous looks that are clearly meant to ask her if she knows what she's doing. She rolls her eyes and nods every time.

"Rachel, I really need you to ignore the camera," Lucas pleads for the hundredth time. "Just focus on Quinn and act... _normal._ "

Rachel huffs, crossing her arms. "I am acting perfectly normal," she insists, and Quinn stifles a laugh. She wants to tell Lucas that Rachel is actually being frighteningly close to normal right now, but he probably wouldn't believe her anyway. "I would simply prefer it if you would shoot me from my right side." Rachel explains as she tips her head up, presenting her best side to the director as an example.

"I'm not re-blocking the shot," Lucas growls, turning a peculiar shade of purple.

Rachel scowls, looking ready to launch into another argument. All the extra tension only tightens the knots in Quinn's stomach, so she steps closer to Rachel, breaching her personal space as much as she dares as she ghosts her fingertips over Rachel's forearm. She can feel the muscles jump under her touch, and Rachel turns to look at Quinn in confusion. Something in her expression must convey how unsettled she feels, because Rachel's eyes widen before they go soft with unspoken apologies. Sighing, Rachel relaxes her confrontational posture and backs down with a slightly insincere, "Of course. You're the director, after all."

His, "Thank you," is equally insincere, and then he instructs everyone back to their marks.

Quinn turns for the table, but Rachel catches her hand and squeezes. "I'm sorry, Quinn," she offers regretfully. "I wasn't thinking about how nervous you must be. I promise, from this moment on, I'll be the perfect scene partner."

Her reassuring smile doesn't really do much to ease Quinn's distress. She swallows down the bitter lump in her throat at how easily Rachel can dismiss all of this as an acting exercise, and then she berates herself for thinking that way, because Rachel has no reason to think that it's anything else.

Quinn manages a weak smile of her own before she makes her way back to the table, steeling her nerves for the next attempt to film. She watches Rachel disappear through the door and when the cameras roll again, she breezes in with a friendly smile and all of her attention focused on Quinn. She gracefully slips into the empty seat with a quiet, "Hi, sorry to keep you waiting," like there aren't two cameras surrounding them and a boom microphone hanging over their table. "So tell me about this big date," she says with muted excitement. It's exactly what they're supposed to do—exactly what Lucas has been trying to get Rachel to do for thirty minutes—and now Quinn is faced with her own internal struggle to act natural when all she's really doing is wondering if this is Rachel being Quinn's supportive friend or Rachel  _acting_  like her supportive friend.

When Lucas clears his throat and raises a bushy eyebrow, Quinn realizes that she's just been sitting here staring at Rachel for far too long. She mumbles out an embarrassed apology.

"We can keep rolling and fix it in editing," he assures her, waving his hand to indicate that she should just pick up the conversation.

Quinn drags in an unsteady breath and forces a nervous smile. "I thought we could go to  _ArtSpace_ ," she says, watching Rachel's face in hopes of seeing her true reaction. Recognition sparks in her eyes and a genuine smile curves her lips. At least, Quinn is almost certain it's genuine when Rachel leans forward in her chair, gushing, "Oh, this is the Pops, isn't it? Libbi Pennington has an exhibit there. I love her acrylics."

One of the knots in Quinn's stomach unfurls, and she relaxes a little into her chair. "So you think it's a good idea," she prompts, conscious of everything that she's supposed to say for the filming but really just so happy that she chose something Rachel seems interested in. There aren't a lot of acceptable choices for dream dates in Lima. She'd considered karaoke at  _Murph's Place_  but ultimately decided it was too much of a cliché for Rachel.

"I think it's a wonderful idea, Quinn," she nods approvingly. "You'll be able to talk as you walk through the galleries, and if you find yourselves struggling for conversation, you can simply choose some God awful piece of art to analyze."

"You mean mock," Quinn corrects with a sly grin.

"Critique," Rachel clarifies.

"Ridicule."

"Judge," Rachel insists, "and I would recommend that you don't initiate any verbal spars with your date. Most boys don't like girls who are obviously smarter than them."

Quinn laughs lightly. "So that's been my problem," she jokes, pushing aside the tiny tingle of guilt that she feels for allowing Rachel to believe that she's going on a date with some nameless, faceless guy. She realizes that Rachel is going to be blindsided by more than one revelation when this is all said and done.

She's asked Quinn a few times who her mystery date is, but surprisingly, she hasn't pushed as hard as she could have. As far as Rachel knows, Quinn met someone at church over the summer that she'd like to date. Quinn has been careful to use gender-neutral pronouns, but Rachel is still under the impression that it must be a man—never a woman.

Rachel purses her lips in consternation. "No, it's their problem," she insists. "Just be yourself, Quinn, but, you know...more open," she qualifies.

Quinn's eyebrow arches. "In other words, don't be myself at all," she quips dryly.

Rachel flushes in embarrassment. "You do have a tendency to be a little...ah," she stutters, shifting uneasily in her chair, "standoffish. Maybe just...don't do that."

Quinn should probably be offended, but she can't help laughing, "Wow, you really suck at this, Rach," she accuses good-naturedly.

Dark cheeks grow even ruddier, and Rachel lets out a little hiss of displeasure. Her mouth opens, and Quinn braces herself for a Rachel Berry rant, but then she seems to remember the cameras pointing at them, and Quinn watches her mask her annoyance with a pleasant smile. "You're the one who asked for my advice," she reminds Quinn in an overly saccharine tone. "Don't worry. You'll be amazing," she assures Quinn with real feeling, "Who wouldn't fall in love with you?"

Quinn's smile slips, and she nearly chokes on her next breath. Thankfully, Lucas seems to think they've gotten what they need, and calls cut.

**xx**

The next two hours are both wonderful and horrible. The cameras follow them around Lima for background shots, and Quinn hates the attention it brings her more than she imagined she would—enough that she honestly starts to question her decision to pursue acting at Yale. She never wants to be stalked by paparazzi or stared at by countless people as she walks down the street. In addition to her general discomfort with the exposure, the knots in her stomach are back in force as she edges ever closer to the big reveal.

The only thing making any of this bearable is the fact that Rachel is standing right beside her. They browse in the little shops scattered along Main Street, pointing out items in the windows and discussing whether anyone would actually buy some of those things and what a person would do with them. Then Rachel drags her into  _Alter Ego Comics_ , and once Quinn recovers from her shock that Rachel isn't just doing this for the show but actually wants to buy the latest  _Avengers_ , she forgets all about the camera hovering over her shoulder and laughs for a good two minutes before she's finally able to catch her breath.

Quinn wipes the mirthful tears from her eyes, noticing that Rachel's expression is caught somewhere between a glare and a pout as she clutches her prized comic book to her chest.

"I just can't believe you're a closet comic book geek," Quinn manages to choke out between her renewed giggles.

"They are graphic novels, Quinn," Rachel defends hotly.

Quinn reaches over and picks up a comic book from the adjacent rack, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she glances down at the cover decorated with a scantily clad woman covered in blood who's standing in front of an upside-down cross under the title  _Punk Rock Jesus_. She turns it around and shows it to Rachel. "This doesn't exactly meet my standards for great literature."

Rachel grimaces, reaching out and gently removing the book from Quinn's hand before replacing it on the shelf. "Some of them are better than others," she reluctantly concedes.

Quinn chuckles again. "What is with me and comic book nerds?" she muses aloud.

"Graphic novels," Rachel automatically reiterates, and then furrows her brow adorably. "What do you mean?"

Quinn blushes, glancing away. "Just...you know...first I dated Sam. Now I'm friends with you," she laughs nervously. "I should hook you guys up so you can geek out to your hearts' content." Rachel bites into her lip, and her cheeks absolutely flame as she begins to fidget uncomfortably. Quinn's eyes widen in stunned realization and her heart drops. "Oh my God! You and Sam?"

"No," Rachel barks hastily. "We never," she trails off anxiously before shaking her head. Then she squares her shoulders until her posture is screaming proud and unaffected. "Samuel and I bonded over our mutual love of  _graphic novels_ ," she stresses, "when he came back to Lima last year." Her eyes dart away from Quinn's incredulous gaze. "And we may have a tentative plan to attend the Comic Con in Columbus next month," she grudgingly admits.

Quinn gapes at Rachel, completely speechless. "You're going to be in New York next month," she reminds her.

"Well, yes, but Comic Con is a three day event over the weekend. I'm sure that I'll be able to get away, and Quinn," Rachel gushes, grabbing her arm excitedly, "Eliza Dushku is going to be there!"

Quinn's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She obviously knows who Eliza Dushku is— _Bring It On_  was required viewing at her first cheerios' camp with Santana and Brittany. She just can't believe that  _Rachel Berry_  knows who the actress is. "I think I've fallen into some alternate reality," Quinn mutters.

"Really, Quinn," Rachel chastises. "My interests are not strictly limited to Broadway musicals and Barbra Streisand, goddess that she is. I do actually watch television. Joss Whedon is a genius."

"Who?"

Rachel gasps, jumping back in horror. "Tell me you're joking."

Quinn shrugs, feeling very self-conscious, especially with the cameras still rolling on them. She sincerely hopes that most of this conversation ends up on the editing room floor. "I don't really watch a lot of television," she reluctantly admits, except for cheesy reality shows on MTV apparently.

"Well, neither do I, but some things are worth making time for," Rachel insists. "Of course, the fact that daddy had huge crushes on Anthony Stewart Head and Nathan Fillion might have had something to do with our television viewing habits."

Quinn merely nods, not daring to ask who they are. Rachel's eyes narrow suspiciously before she shakes her head in pity. "We are going to have a Whedon marathon before I leave for New York," she decides.

Quinn smiles at that, because spending more time with Rachel is exactly what all of this is about.

Rachel shuffles off to buy her comic book—or graphic novel, whatever—and Quinn notices Lucas grinning at her fondly. He gives her a thumbs up sign, and she ducks her head bashfully.

**xx**

The next morning, Quinn paces her living room, watching the clock tick down toward her moment of truth. They'd wrapped yesterday at around four-thirty, and Quinn had watched Lucas lead Rachel off to film her one-on-one interview. She doesn't have any idea what Rachel said, and despite some nice moments that they'd shared yesterday, she's still no closer to guessing how Rachel will react today.

She wipes at her eyes, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She barely slept last night and it shows. Her mind had refused to shut off, alternating between the memories of her day with Rachel and visions of their fledgling friendship disintegrating into ashes with the knowledge that she'll be the one who lights the flame. She'd finally given up on attempting to sleep in favor of sorting through her closet for the perfect outfit to wear, which quickly morphed into sorting out the wardrobe she planned to pack for college.

It's just after ten o'clock when Lucas and his crew show up again, and Quinn is hustled back in front of a camera to spew out her nervous predate ramblings. She rubs her sweaty palms on her skirt as she stares at some undefined spot over the lens and quietly admits her fear that this is going to ruin her friendship with Rachel.

She doesn't know when this friendship became quite so important to her. Rachel has just always been there. It seemed like every time Quinn turned around, she'd have to face ugly animal sweaters, over-enthusiastic smiles, know-it-all speeches, and compassionate glances as Rachel silently begged her for a friendship that she didn't particularly want. Then one day, when Quinn was feeling especially awful, she realized that she was looking for Rachel to be there, waiting for the compassionate smile and supportive words. It's why she broke down and bought those Metro North passes; even knowing that Rachel likely would soon be Mrs. Finn Hudson. Quinn never wants to turn around and not see Rachel there, waiting for her.

She doesn't believe that Rachel is the kind of person who would be upset with her for having feelings that she can't control. No, what she really worries about is the suffocating awkwardness that will follow if Rachel has to let her down gently. They've really only just gotten comfortable with one another to that point where they can laugh together and tease one another. If Rachel has absolutely no romantic feelings for her, then Quinn isn't sure if they'll ever be able to get back to where they are now.

It's eleven-fifteen when Rachel's Prius pulls into the driveway. Quinn's stomach bottoms out and her heart starts to pound like a jackhammer. She moves toward the door, but Lucas stops her. "Just wait in here for a few minutes," he instructs before he's out the door.

Quinn frowns and peeks through the blinds, watching as Lucas catches Rachel on the driveway and prevents her from coming any closer to the house. She looks confused as he talks to her, and Quinn notices his assistant ducking into Rachel's car with a little camera. She sighs, lets go of the blinds, and leans back heavily against the wall. Nothing about this 'date' is a  _dream_ —or romantic or even enjoyable. She scrubs a weary hand over her face and wonders why she ever thought this would be a good idea.

 _I didn't think at all_ , she ruefully admits. She'd watched a few lucky people get their friends to see them as potential lovers and thought it'd looked easy enough. Never mind that she'd watched so many more get shot down. Quinn has never taken the direct path to anything. No, she always has to find some angle, some lie or scheme to force things to go her way, except they never do. She recognizes this now. She'd wanted to come out of the closet and confess her feelings for Rachel all in one convenient step; all while putting Rachel on the spot so she'd be forced to be gentle with her rejection or maybe even feel some obligation to refrain from publicly embarrassing Quinn. For all appearances of bravado, Quinn suspects that she's actually taking the coward's way out, but there's nothing she can do to change it now.

Her door swinging open startles her out of her thoughts, and she turns to find Lucas hurrying in. "We're ready to roll," he announces, barking out a few more orders to his crew. "Rachel is going to drive around the block once and come back," he tells Quinn. "We've installed the remote cameras in her car, so you're good to go. Dylan will let us know when he sees her pull up, and you can go out and meet her. We'll follow in the van, watching the feed. If something goes wrong, we'll stop you."

Quinn puffs out a breath and nods. Yeah, really not romantic at all.

Three minutes later, Lucas gives her the go ahead. Quinn squares her shoulders, plasters on a smile, and opens the door. Rachel is out of her car and heading up the driveway, and she smiles back at Quinn, looking slightly amused by the whole production. They meet in the middle, and Quinn opens her arms to wrap Rachel up in a hug. This may be the last one for a while, so she's taking full advantage.

"Hi," she murmurs softly into dark hair. "Thank you for doing this with me."

Rachel giggles a bit. "You don't have to thank me," she whispers back. "I love that I can do things for you."

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, praying that Rachel will always feel that way. Pulling back, she flashes a smile that doesn't tremble and fakes the confidence that she doesn't feel. "Let's go."

**xx**

Rachel drives them to  _ArtSpace_. Quinn isn't the best passenger these days. It had taken her two months to even be able to get back in a car without having to take an Ativan tablet first. She hasn't driven since the accident. The first time she'd tried had been a week after graduation. She'd slid in behind the wheel and had valiantly attempted to ignore the nausea swirling in her belly, but the moment she'd closed the door, she'd had a panic attack and could barely breathe. Her mother had to physically drag her out of the car, and they'd ended up curled into one another on the driveway in tears.

Quinn reasoned that it had simply been too soon, so she'd tried again at the end of July. That time, she'd managed to close the door and turn the key in the ignition, but her hand had frozen on the gear shift, and she couldn't make herself put the car into drive. Once again, Judy Fabray needed to pull her crying, trembling daughter out of the car.

Quinn is so tired of relying on other people to taxi her from place to place. She wants to be completely independent again, but she knows that it's going to take some time to get there.

Rachel is a very careful driver—or maybe she's just extra careful with Quinn in the car. Both of her hands are on the steering wheel, placed precisely at ten o'clock and two o'clock, and the needle on the speedometer never rises above the speed limit. Rachel's eyes never once leave the road, despite the fact that she's conscious of the cameras and making conversation to lead into Quinn's 'date.'

"So, if this goes well today, are you planning to try a long distance relationship?" she asks.

Quinn sighs, thinking about those train passes again. "I plan to try a  _relationship_ ," she stresses. "If it's really meant to be, we can deal with the distance."

Rachel's hands tighten on the wheel, turning her knuckles white, and Quinn belatedly realizes what she's said. She wants to apologize and reassure Rachel that Finn really did want what was best for her, but that's not a conversation she wants to have on camera. Rachel obviously feels the same way, because she forces a fake smile, and says, "I'm sure everything will work out for you, Quinn."

"I hope so," she murmurs, but she isn't so that sure that it can now. Rachel's carefree mood has shifted into sadness, and Quinn feels the ghost of Finn Hudson squeezed into the space between them, keeping Rachel just out of her reach.

All too soon, Rachel is easing the car into a parking space, and Quinn struggles to regulate her breathing in an attempt to calm her heart. Her skin feels like it's on fire, and she has the unpleasant notion that she's probably sweating. She sucks in a lungful of air, holds it for a second, and then releases it slowly.

Rachel turns to her with a smile that's still a little sad around the edges, but encouraging all the same. "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," Quinn admits in a raspy voice, stripped raw by the dryness of her mouth.

Rachel reaches over the gear shift and lightly places her hand on top of Quinn's, where it's been twisting into her skirt and wrinkling the fabric. "You shouldn't be. You're everyone's dream date, Quinn," Rachel tells her earnestly, "Just go in there, smile, and refrain from calling him a moron at any point," she jokes lightly, inspiring a tiny grin to form on Quinn's lips, "and he'll love you."

 _But will_ you  _love me?_ Quinn wonders.

She sinks into the velvet brown of Rachel's eyes, comforted by the warmth she sees there, and she knows that it's now or never. "Rachel," she sighs, "there's something I have to tell you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II: Resolution**

* * *

Life can change in a moment. Quinn has learned this lesson repeatedly. One moment, one too many drinks, one mistake in judgment, one bottle of hair dye, one cigarette, one tattoo, one text message.

One application for  _Friendzone_.

Quinn doesn't watch the episode when it airs in October—there's no reason when she'd experienced the real-time version of it. She knows that some of her friends watched it right away by the incredulous messages posted on her Facebook. Mercedes thinks it's all an elaborate joke and leaves three messages to that effect before she finally gives up and asks  _'why Rachel, of all people?'_  Kurt apologizes for telling her back in February that she didn't understand true despair-nine months too late in her opinion—before he stupidly welcomes her to the 'club.'

Sam comments that their whole relationship suddenly makes sense to him. Joe apologizes for his inappropriate advances. Puck is surprisingly less crude than she'd expected, all things considered, and tells her that it kind of makes sense now why she'd never really wanted to give him another go in the sack. (Neither of them mentions her temporary bout of insanity last fall.)

Quinn is endlessly grateful that there are no television, phone, or computer privileges allowed in boot camp. If anyone has bothered to inform Finn that his ex-girlfriend appeared on television to proclaim her love for his ex-fiancée, at least he hasn't wasted what little downtime he does have on sending off some illegible letter full of insults and whining about how Quinn is always trying to hurt him.

Santana offers words of encouragement and promises that it really does get better. She's been repeating different versions of the same sentiment since Lucas and his crew packed up and left Lima for their next destination and the next poor person hoping to change their title from friend to lover. In true Santana fashion, her support comes wrapped in colorful euphemisms, but Quinn takes comfort in her words anyway, feeling oddly settled in the knowledge that one relationship in her life will never change.

Judy Fabray calls six days after the show airs, and Quinn is honestly impressed that it even took that long for the news to find its way to her.

She's livid; absolutely horrified that Quinn would go on television and proclaim to the world that she's in love with another woman. Quinn sits stonily on her little twin bed in New Haven and stares unblinkingly at the wall as her mother yells about her reputation and cries about Quinn's inconsideration. Judy is angry. Judy is embarrassed. Judy is afraid to answer her phone because all of Lima is gossiping about her.

Quinn cries silently and waits to be disowned; waits to lose the only family she has left; waits to be told that she's a sinner.

"Why did you have to come out so publicly, Quinn?" Judy cries. "Why couldn't you have just kept it quiet?"

Quinn presses a fist to her mouth, stifling a sob. "I'm tired of pretending," she manages to choke through the tears that burn in her throat and sting her eyes. "I wanted everyone to know who I really am."

Judy doesn't say another word, but Quinn can hear her crying through the phone. She doesn't hang up, and neither does Quinn. She's afraid that the moment the call disconnects, she'll no longer have a mother.

She's not entirely unprepared for this moment. She has a job in the campus bookstore, and she's quietly made some inquiries into possible additional financial aid. Her first semester tuition is paid, and she has enough money saved to make it to her second without starving. She's fairly certain that she can find a way to finance her next semester. It will be hard, and she'll be on a tight budget, and she'll probably need to find another job that she can work on weekends, but she's determined to stay in college. If she can get up and out a wheelchair in three months, she can sure as hell find a way to graduate from Yale.

Judy sniffles across the line, and Quinn hears some shuffling before her mother finally speaks again. "We'll discuss this further when you come home next month."

Quinn catches her breath. "You...you still want me to come home?"

She hears a frustrated sigh. "Of course I do. You're my daughter, Quinnie," she sobs again. "I may be very angry and disappointed with you right now, but I still love you."

Quinn's tears come harder, and it takes her a moment to be able to speak around the tightness in her chest. "I...I love you too, Mom."

"Please don't come home with a buzz cut or any more tattoos."

Quinn chuckles through her tears. "I won't. I promise."

When she disconnects the call, she feels lighter than she has in—well, her whole life, really. She doesn't even remember a time when her shoulders weren't tight with tension and her mind filled with countless lists of  _dos_  and  _don'ts_ , constantly calculating every word and every step and every smile to make sure that no one would ever see the scared little girl underneath her façade.

For the first time, she's been stripped bare, and there's nothing left to hide from anyone anymore, and she feels—God, she feels  _free_.

Quinn wipes away her tears and inhales deeply.

Exhales.

Breathes freely.

Finally.

**xx**

Thanksgiving break begins after her last class on November sixteenth. Quinn considers not going home right away, but she hasn't seen her mother since she'd moved into the dorms and their telephone conversations since the big reveal have been short and stilted, covering the basics of health, grades, and finances. Judy can't bring herself to ask about Quinn's personal life, and Quinn doesn't volunteer any information. Going home to Lima is going to be a strange, uncomfortable thing, but it has to be done.

The good thing about Yale's Thanksgiving break is that it starts early enough that Quinn will be able to get a jump on the heaviest of the travel madness. She packs a little bag, mostly filled with her basic necessities and a few books—also basic necessities for Quinn—because she has enough clothes left at home to get her through the week. She shares a cab to the airport just outside of Hartford with her roommate, Leslie, who's flying back to Pittsburgh.

Quinn told Leslie the second day they'd roomed together that she likes girls, and Leslie had just shrugged and told her, "Cool with me, but just so you know, I'm only into guys; preferably wealthy ones." Quinn doesn't really think of herself as a lesbian—not when she'd had sex with Puck and had a baby; not when she thinks she might have actually loved Sam—but she can admit that Rachel isn't the only girl that she's physically attracted to, even if she is the only one that Quinn has been in love with. Maybe she's bisexual, or maybe she's just done letting her mind dictate what her heart should want and her body should like.

"Are you nervous to go back home?" Leslie asks her, mostly to make conversation on the drive. She knows all about Quinn's fifteen minutes of fame and how her conservative mother had reacted and exactly what's waiting for her in Lima, Ohio.

Quinn shrugs. "A little. I'm not really looking forward to the face-to-face conversation with my mother, but at least I know she won't be setting the timer on the microwave and giving me ten minutes to pack up my things and get out." Leslie laughs, obviously thinking that Quinn is joking. Quinn doesn't correct her. "I'm more worried about," she trails off, staring out the window and watching the trees blur into a fuzzy green streak along the side of the highway.

Leslie smiles sympathetically, elbowing her lightly to catch her attention. "You'll be fine," she reassures her. "I mean, it's not like you totally crashed and burned in a fiery wreckage of humiliation. You and Rachel still talk and everything," she reminds Quinn.

Quinn forces a smile and nods, closing her eyes to keep the ache in her heart from shining through the hazel. Leslie is right. They do still talk, but their conversations are almost as awkward as the ones she has with Judy.

The Metro North passes that Quinn was so happy to purchase sit unused in their envelopes.

**xx**

The reunion with Judy is anti-climactic. Her mother meets her at the airport, and they stand opposite one another wearing equally uncertain expressions. Judy wrings her hands and tilts her head, scrutinizing Quinn's appearance as if she expects to find some outward sign of her newly discovered sexual preferences. Quinn is mostly attempting to determine if her mother is still sober.

Judy is the first to break the stalemate, offering a small, tentative smile as she steps forward. "Welcome home, dear," she whispers, wrapping her arms around Quinn in a brief, clumsy hug. Quinn squeezes her back with her free arm; the other still holding her carry-on bag. She smells lilac perfume and coconut shampoo but, blessedly, no tang of alcohol.

The drive is mostly silent, at least until they're about a half an hour from Lima and Judy glances nervously over at her. "Have you," she clears her throat, tightening her fingers around the steering wheel. "Have you been seeing much of...of Rachel Berry?"

Quinn clenches her jaw, turning to stare out the passenger window. Leave it to her mother to avoid the whole subject for a month and then ask the one question that Quinn doesn't want to answer.

"Oh," Judy breathes quietly. "I'm sorry, Quinnie," she offers weakly, and Quinn tips her forehead against the cool glass and closes her eyes to the world.

They don't speak again until long after they've arrived home.

**xx**

Santana comes back from Louisville on Tuesday. Her break doesn't technically start until Wednesday, but Santana, being Santana, opted to skip the one class that she has on Tuesday morning in favor of flying home early.

She appears on Quinn's doorstep two hours after her flight touches down, expecting to be entertained. Judy is showing a few houses this afternoon, so it's just Quinn and Santana and the bottle of tequila in her hand. Quinn has no doubt that Santana would be with Brittany right now if she wasn't in school, but Brittany wants to actually graduate this year, so she isn't skipping any days—not even for her girlfriend.

Santana hates Kentucky, and she complains non-stop for the first forty minutes of their mini-reunion. She misses Brittany. If she can't be with her girl anyway, she'd rather be in New Fucking York, getting famous. An hour later, Quinn knows that she's had too much to drink when she allows Santana to grab the television remote and call up episode 3:01.

"No," she protests shakily, making an ungainly grab for the remote. "Gimme," she demands.

"C'mon, Q-Fab. It'll be fun," Santana promises, easily evading her advances and pushing her onto the sofa, remote still securely in hand. "And I look hot as hell, even though I only got like, thirty seconds of damn screen time," she complains with a glare. "What's up with that, anyway?"

Quinn shrugs and sullenly collapses into the sofa. "Dunno. Haven't watched it."

Santana gapes at her. "Are you fucking serious?" When Quinn merely shrugs again and takes a sloppy drink from the bottle they've been passing back and forth, Santana grabs her wrist and pries away the tequila, setting it on the table. "You didn't watch it?" she demands again, suddenly seeming just a bit more sober.

Quinn shakes her head. "Wh's the point?" she slurs.

"Idiota," Santana mutters, pointing the remote at the television and cuing up the episode.

Quinn tries to get up, thinking that she'd rather be anywhere but here, but Santana tosses a leg over her lap and half sits on her. "Just watch," she commands, and Quinn cringes when she hears her own stupidly, hopeful voice introduce herself from the television.

Her eyes are pulled to the screen, even though it's the last thing she wants to see, but it's kind of like that compulsion to watch the gory bits of a horror movie through the spaces between your fingers. She just can't look away.

She sees herself staring into the camera with a sappy, lovesick look on her face, before the scene shifts to two girls walking down the sidewalk, shoulders close, as they window shop. Her heart squeezes to the point of pain as she watches how happy she and Rachel look in those moments.

**xx**

"Rachel and I met in high school," Quinn's disembodied voice narrates over the perfect scene of two friends enjoying one another's company. "We've known one another for four years, but we haven't always been the best of friends."

Photos of Quinn in her cheerios uniform appear on the screen, followed by pictures of Rachel Berry in a sweater vest with a big, toothy smile.

"It took me a while to appreciate Rachel's quirks," the camera cuts back to Quinn, sporting an amused grin. "She has the most amazing voice," Quinn reveals over a clip of Rachel on a stage, wearing a red dress with black trim. The background music slowly builds in volume until the speakers are filled with the chorus of  _It's All Coming Back To Me Now_ , circa the 2012 National Show Choir Championship performance _._

"She's probably the most talented person in Ohio, and she'll be the first to tell you that."

Quinn's face reappears, and she's smiling fondly as she continues to speak. "I don't doubt for a minute that one day I'll be sitting in the audience, watching Rachel Berry's Broadway debut, but she's so much more than just her voice."

The scene changes to show Rachel and Quinn in a comic book shop, laughingly squabbling over Rachel's fondness for  _graphic novels_.

"Rachel has so many hidden layers that most people don't take the time to discover, but all of my favorite things about her are the things that she thinks I don't notice. Like the fact that she's so passionate about the things that she loves, even when they are aren't considered cool. Or that, even though she's vegan, she bakes non-vegan cookies for her friends."

The two girls are shown briefly hugging in front of a doorway. "She's the most forgiving person I've ever known," Quinn says before the scene fades back to her looking into the camera, "and she always seems to see the best in me and encourages me to go after my dreams. And I think I do the same for her."

Quinn glances away from the camera, biting into her lip and drawing in a ragged breath. "She's going to New York in a few weeks," she finally says, "and I feel like if I don't tell her how I feel about her now, I'll miss my chance. She doesn't have a clue, and I'm so afraid to tell her, because our friendship means so much to me. I don't want to lose that, but I have to take a chance or I'll always wonder what might have been." Quinn forces a smile, appearing cautiously hopeful. "Today's the day I get out of the friend zone."

The next segment begins at poolside. A slow pan of the camera reveals a tiny white bikini and the girl wearing it. The caption on screen reads  _Quinn's friend, Santana._ Quinn is far more demure, in a one-piece suit and cover-up. Her voiceover explains, "Santana and I have been friends for a few years. I can always trust her to tell me the truth."

Santana glances over at Quinn with a bored expression. "Do you think you're wearing enough layers, Q? I'd hate to see your skin tone go a shade above albino."

Quinn rolls her eyes, but her voiceover continues, "Even if I don't always like what I'm hearing, I know that when everything is said and done, she has my back."

"I'm going to tell Rachel that I have feelings for her," she informs Santana onscreen.

"It's only taken you four years," Santana replies, pulling her sunglasses down with her pinky and eyeing Quinn with a smirk.

"I don't really know what to expect. We have such a great relationship right now, and I'm worried that what I'm doing is going to ruin that."

Santana shrugs. "It could happen. I mean, you know that the midg... _Rachel_...can be over-dramatic. She might completely freak out about this."

Quinn nibbles on the corner of her lip, appearing upset by the possibility.

"Or she could tell you that she's been crushing on you too," Santana adds, muttering, "That would actually explain a lot. Ultimately, you're the one who has to decide if telling her is worth the risk."

"I think it is," Quinn confirms. "I really want to be with her, Santana."

There is a brief shot of Santana rolling her eyes before she pushes the sunglasses back up onto her nose. "I gotta be honest, Quinn," she adds amiably, "if that girl doesn't already have a least a little bit of an idea how you feel about her, she's more oblivious than I thought."

The scene shifts to the exterior of the  _Lima Bean_ , zooming in on the logo in the window, before pulling back to show Rachel walking up to the door. The camera cuts to a close-up of Rachel.

"Hello, I'm Rachel, and I'm going to be helping my best friend Quinn prepare for her date," she states matter-of-factly. "Personally, I don't think that Quinn needs any help. She's absolutely beautiful."

Quinn and Rachel are shown in a shop, and Rachel holds a pale green dress up to Quinn, who is smiling joyfully.

"But she's so much more than a pretty face."

The camera cuts to Quinn, browsing through a stack of used books.

"She's going to Yale, after all," Rachel proudly reveals before she reappears onscreen. "Quinn deserves every happiness, and I know she's going to take the world by storm. I'm so grateful to have her in my life," Rachel says fervently, nodding at the camera, "and I know that she'll be amazing on her date, because, well," Rachel shrugs, grinning sheepishly, "she's Quinn."

The focus changes to Quinn sitting at a table, nervously picking at the cup of coffee in front of her with a blunt fingernail. She looks up and smiles, her eyes sparkling with affection as Rachel enters.

"Hi, sorry to keep you waiting," she says as she slides into a chair across from Quinn. "So tell me about this big date."

The shot cuts back to Quinn, looking nervous. "I thought we could go to  _ArtSpace_."

Rachel nods, smiling, "I think it's a wonderful idea, Quinn. You'll be able to talk as you walk through the galleries, and if you find yourselves struggling for conversation, you can simply choose some God awful piece of art to analyze."

Their joking exchange follows, and the camera pans back and forth between them as they discuss Quinn's plans. The shot changes to a close-up of Rachel's face, and she appears to be gazing at Quinn very tenderly. "Don't worry. You'll be amazing. Who wouldn't fall in love with you?"

Quinn's trembling smile and hopeful eyes fade into black.

The next segment begins with Quinn putting on makeup for her date while her voiceover narrates, "I'm more nervous than I thought I'd be. Today is the day I tell Rachel how I feel."

"I really want this to go well," she says nervously into the camera. "If Rachel doesn't reciprocate…if she tells me that there isn't even a chance that she could feel the same way…I know it's going to hurt so much," she admits with vulnerability glistening in her eyes. "Rachel is such an important part of my life. I don't think she realizes exactly how much she really means to me, but she will." She sighs. "I hate the thought of losing her friendship, but it's a chance that I have to take."

Quinn's hopeful face disappears from the screen, and Rachel's car pulls up to the house. She gets out, meeting Quinn halfway as she walks down the driveway, and the girls share a hug before getting into the car. They chat on camera while Rachel drives them to  _ArtSpace_ until the car comes to a stop and Rachel turns to Quinn with an affectionate smile.

"Are you nervous?"

"Terrified."

"You shouldn't be. You're everyone's dream date, Quinn. Just go in there, smile, and refrain from calling him a moron at any point, and he'll love you."

"Rachel, there's something I have to tell you," Quinn says, and Rachel's smile transforms into an expression of concern.

"What is it, Quinn?"

Quinn shakes her head, tugging uncomfortably at her seat belt. "Could you," she starts breathlessly, then stops, inhales deeply before slowly exhaling. "Can we maybe get some air?" she asks, looking wan.

Rachel nods. "Of course."

The scene cuts to the both of them standing in front of the car. Quinn's right arm crosses her body and her hand is curled around her own bicep. Rachel gazes at her expectantly.

"So, I…ah," Quinn begins, licking her lips and offering a tiny, trembling smile. "I lied." Rachel frowns, but Quinn continues speaking, "I'm not meeting anyone here. All of this is for you."

Rachel's head tilts, as if she isn't certain of what she just heard, and then her eyebrows furrow in an expression of confusion. "I…I don't understand," she manages quietly.

"I like you," Quinn confesses. "Romantically," she clarifies. "I have for about eight months now, and I'm hoping that you could feel the same way."

Rachel laughs nervously, glancing around them as though she's looking for an escape route. "Is this a joke?" she asks uncomfortably.

Quinn inhales sharply, lifting her chin. "No, Rachel. I…I wouldn't do that to you. I care about you so much. You've been there for me for three years now, and I feel like...like no one has ever known me as well as you do. I think you're amazing, and we could have something really special if you just give me the chance."

Rachel shakes her head, frowning. "But you're not," she begins, then purses her lips, taking a deep breath through her nose, before turning to pace away from Quinn. She stops several steps away. Her posture is closed off, shoulders hunched slightly and head bowed. She is silent for a long moment before she finally turns around, arms crossed beneath her breasts. "You like me?" she asks flatly.

Quinn nods, and her eyes are clearly glistening with moisture. "Do you…could you ever see me as more than a friend?"

Rachel glances away, clearly upset. "I…I don't know," she admits, looking back at Quinn. "I wasn't expecting any of this, Quinn. I've never…I didn't even consider that you could feel this way. It isn't fair of you to expect me to answer a question that I didn't imagine could even exist until two minutes ago."

"Just be honest with me, Rachel," Quinn begs. "Is there even a chance?"

Rachel drops her eyes to the ground, shaking her head ever so slightly from side-to-side. "I'm just not in a place where I can even think about this," she admits quietly, voice filled with regret. "I'm sorry."

Quinn hastily wipes her cheeks, looking away. "Okay. Okay," she repeats hoarsely. "I understand," she mumbles, clearly struggling to keep her composure.

Rachel's cheeks are wet as well, but she doesn't make any effort to dry them. "I'm so sorry," she repeats shakily. "I care about you so much, Quinn, but I…I just," she pauses, drawing in a calming breath. "You're my best friend."

Quinn nods curtly. "Can you just take me home now?"

Rachel looks startled by her detached tone, but she nods meekly, and they silently get back into the car. The camera watches the car back out of the parking space and follows the taillights as they move away until the image is replaced by Quinn's tearful face.

"It hurts," she confesses thinly, brushing at her tears with trembling fingers, "knowing that Rachel only sees me as her friend. I really thought there might be a chance for us," she whispers, sniffling a little, "but I can't be sorry that I finally told her the truth. At least now, I don't have to wonder how she feels about me anymore." She laughs sadly. "I can move on. And hopefully, we'll be able to stay friends."

The camera cuts to Rachel, standing outside with her arms wrapped around herself in a protective posture, looking sad and forlorn. "I just can't believe that Quinn feels that way about me. If I'd known," she trails off hopelessly, shaking her head. "I have feelings for someone else, and she knows that. I wish I didn't. I wish I could move on and give Quinn what she wants, because she's so special and so wonderful," Rachel tells the camera with glossy eyes, "but I just can't be what she needs right now. And I can't ask her to wait until I'm ready." Rachel glances away. "I…I hate that I hurt her, but I just…I need time to process all of this," she muses softly, still not looking at the camera. "But we'll get through this. We have to."

The screen fades to black.

**xx**

Quinn is crying openly by the time the television goes dark. The pleasant buzz of the alcohol she'd consumed fifteen minutes ago has been snuffed out, and she feels every emotion as acutely as if it happened this morning. Santana's arm is wrapped around her shoulder, but she doesn't want to be comforted.

"Why?" she sobs, pushing at Santana. "Why would you make me watch that? I lived it, Santana! I didn't get the girl! She didn't want me!" Quinn yells. "God, we're barely even friends now."

"And whose fault is that?" Santana growls. "Did you actually pay attention to what you just watched, Quinn? The part where you said you'd be able move on and be her friend again?"

"But I can't," Quinn admits brokenly. "I'm not over her."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Which is stupid and masochistic, but Quinn, Rachel isn't the one brooding and being weird…and that's saying something since Rachel is, like, the freaking Queen of Weird! The friendship thing? That's all on you."

"It's not that easy," Quinn sniffles.

"Well, no shit," Santana hisses, "but you're the one who decided to publicly tell the girl that you wanted to bone her." Quinn cringes at the gross over-simplification. "Anyway," Santana continues, "it seems to me that it isn't so much that Rachel straight up didn't want you…she just didn't know what the hell to do with what you were telling her. And, you know, she was still hung up on that asshole, Finnept."

Quinn swipes angrily at her tears. "It doesn't matter now anyway," she argues. "Rachel is dating some new guy."

"Yeah, and I know that sucks for you, but at least she's finally over Finn," Santana reminds her. "And if you really don't want to completely wreck your friendship over this, you need to get off your ass and make some effort to actually  _be_  her  _friend_  again."

Quinn closes her gritty eyes, tipping her head back against the sofa. She remembers the tearful conversation that she and Rachel had in the car on the drive back—the one that Lucas had thankfully not filmed—with a distraught Rachel reminding Quinn that she was still in love with Finn Hudson and that they didn't break up so much as surrender to fate, and how she couldn't just forget about three years of her life like it meant nothing.

She remembers reaching for the door handle the moment that the car had eased to a stop in her driveway, eyeing her house like it was a safe haven from every bad thing. She remembers Rachel's firm hand on her shoulder and her tear-streaked face as she'd begged Quinn to promise that they'd talk about everything, in private, away from the cameras.

Quinn drags in a shuddering breath as she remembers how that conversation had gone. The crying and the questions from Rachel—how long had Quinn felt this way and why didn't she say something sooner and did she really have to confess her feelings on a tacky television show?

**x**

" _I tried to tell you so many times," Quinn revealed brokenly, "but something always got in the way. I needed a way to make sure that I would actually go through with it this time."_

" _How did you expect me to react?" Rachel demanded, her frustration evident. "You ambushed me on camera, Quinn. While the experience will undoubtedly aid me in future improvisational exercises, it's not the way a girl should be told that her best friend has feelings for her. I didn't even know you were interested in women," Rachel exclaimed, tossing her hands out in a plea for Quinn to help her understand._

" _I'm interested in_ you _," Quinn corrected sadly._

_Rachel's expression immediately changed into one of tearful sympathy. "Oh, Quinn," she breathed, but Quinn could barely look at her._

" _Please don't pity me," she begged weakly, turning away. "There aren't any cameras here now, so you don't have to spare my pride"_

" _That's not what I'm doing," Rachel insisted. "I care about you so much, Quinn."_

" _As a friend," Quinn finished dejectedly._

" _Yes," she admitted. "I can't tell you it's anything more than that...not when I'm still in love with Finn."_

_The reminder of that made Quinn want to scream. How could Rachel still be so devoted to a boy who cared so little for her feelings—for her dreams? "He doesn't deserve you."_

" _Maybe not," Rachel conceded. "Maybe he doesn't. And...and maybe you do," Rachel offered so softly that Quinn almost didn't hear her, "but I can't change the way I feel. Believe me, I wish that I could."_

" _So do I," Quinn echoed, not certain if she was referring to Rachel's feelings or her own._

" _Maybe if things were different," Rachel began, but then seemed to think better of whatever she was about to say. "I don't know when or_ if _I'll get over him, Quinn. If you're waiting for that to happen..."_

" _I'm not," Quinn snapped, just wanting the conversation to be over so she could go a lick her wounds in peace. "I get it, okay?"_

" _Please say this isn't going to ruin our friendship," Rachel pleaded. "I don't want to lose you."_

_Quinn swallowed heavily, forcing herself to meet Rachel's pleading eyes. "I don't want to lose you either," she admitted shakily, "but you have to understand, Rachel. I need some time to get over you."_

_Rachel blinked, looking wounded. "Oh...okay. I understand." She nodded. "I really do want you to be happy, Quinn."_

_It's what Quinn wanted too. She just couldn't seem to figure out how to get there from here._

**x**

Quinn rubs a trembling hand across her eyes. She and Rachel had avoided one another for more than a week after that moment—or, rather,  _Quinn_  had avoided Rachel, too upset to face her. She'd only broken her self-imposed distance to say goodbye to Rachel before she left for New York and wish her good luck at NYADA. They hadn't hugged. Every phone call, email, and text message that's followed has been primarily focused on classes and mundane things, like adjusting to college schedules and roommates and exploring their new cities.

Quinn knows all about Rachel's bitchy dance instructor, Cassandra July, but next to nothing about Brody Weston. Rachel knows about Yale but nothing about the one guy and two girls that Quinn has attempted to date in the last three months.

The guy had been a complete mistake—Quinn's brief regression to that girl who needed an attractive, mildly successful guy to boost her self-esteem. The girls had been  _enlightening_. She's still semi-seeing one of them, but it isn't serious yet. It can't be—not when Quinn hasn't completely banished the ghost of Rachel Berry from her mind and heart. Maybe she'll be able to do that this week. She hopes so, because Santana isn't wrong.

Quinn is the reason that her friendship with Rachel isn't recovering the way that it should. She's been the one holding on to the hurt and the disappointment and the embarrassment of rejection, but now that she's finally watched the episode, she has to concede that it could have been so much worse. Rachel was kinder to her than Quinn likely would have been had their positions been reversed. She's grateful for that and for Rachel's tenacity when it comes to their friendship. Anyone else would have allowed the awkwardness to eat away at them until they simply drifted apart. Quinn knows it's time for her to give as good as she's gotten. There's an ache in her chest that has nothing to do with thwarted romance and everything to do with missing her best friend.

**xx**

Thanksgiving Day is a quiet affair—Quinn and Judy and a little turkey breast. Judy makes an effort to ask Quinn about her friends at Yale, but she still can't broach the subject of any potential girlfriends. Quinn doesn't have much to say right now anyway, so it's easy enough to let Judy ignore the big, pink elephant in the room. Quinn is grateful that her mother is mostly over the initial shock and disappointment and has moved on to the acceptance phase. She knows that acceptance for Judy Fabray will never entail her mother standing with wide open arms and a loving smile, ready to welcome Quinn and any future girlfriend she might bring home. For them, acceptance will be just this; Judy welcoming Quinn home.

She hasn't seen that many people since she's been back. Her school break is longer than many others, and Quinn spends most of her time alone or with Santana and Brittany. She sees Puck early in the week, and they talk a little about Beth and the latest photos that Shelby has sent. She listens to him complain about the half-brother that she never knew he had.

She sees Finn Hudson in passing on the street, grateful that he doesn't seem to see her. Apparently, he washed out of boot camp after he shot himself in the ass. Quinn didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Santana told her. She shouldn't be surprised that Finn has proven, yet again, that he's immune to maturity. Even Army discipline failed at making him into a responsible man. She can't believe Rachel ever thought that marrying him would be a good idea.

Rachel and Kurt don't make it out of New York until late Wednesday, caught between the crush of tourists attempting to get into the city for the parade and the mass exodus of residents seeking more peaceful destinations. Rachel calls Thursday morning to wish her a happy Thanksgiving and reminds her that she's hosting a mini-reunion on Friday. Quinn promises to be there.

She catches a ride with Santana because she still isn't driving and also because she doesn't want to walk into Rachel's house alone. Quinn barely even places a foot on the front stoop before the door is swinging open and Rachel is standing there with wide, excited eyes and a tremulous smile.

"Hello. Welcome, it's so wonderful to see you all," she enthuses, but her eyes are focused only on Quinn.

"Yeah, whatever," Santana grumbles, but her lips are flirting with a fond smile "It'll be better to see you once I get my drink on," and she pushes past Rachel, immediately heading in the direction of the basement.

"Hi, Rachel," Brittany chirps as she follows behind Santana, hand locked in her girlfriend's firm grasp. "You look taller. Did the water in New York make you grow?"

Rachel opens her mouth to reply, but Brittany has already forgotten about her, instead cuddling up to Santana as the duo disappears through the door that hides the basement stairwell. Quinn finds herself smiling despite her nerves, at least until she realizes that she's on the receiving end of Rachel's full attention.

The first thing that Quinn really notices is how good Rachel looks. Her hair has a few more highlights than the last time Quinn saw her, and it's curling gently around her face with the bangs brushed back from her forehead, the way that Quinn has always secretly preferred. She's wearing a short, dark skirt and soft, yellow sweater, reminiscent of her early high school wardrobe, only far more fashionable. She does seem a little taller, Quinn realizes with a start, and she lets her eyes travel down to discover the square heeled boots that hug Rachel's toned calves. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in the unexpected discovery.

"I've missed you," Rachel says softly, breaking into Quinn's thoughts.

"I've missed you too," she replies with a smile, and they aren't just empty words. "You look good," she adds. "New York is obviously having a positive effect."

Rachel blushes, ducking her head. "Thank you, Quinn. You look beau," she stops herself, purses her lips, and then smiles a little ruefully. "You look good too." Rachel's eyes dart up-and-down, side-to-side, as she fidgets in the doorway, clearly anxious, before she takes a breath and steels herself. "I'm going to hug you now," she warns.

Quinn feels her heart break just a little, because Rachel has never felt the need to make that announcement with her before. She swallows thickly and forces a friendly smile, nodding and opening her arms. "Please."

Rachel's smile is breathtaking, and she practically jumps into Quinn's arms, fitting her chin into the curve of Quinn's shoulder and holding her tightly. Quinn wishes that she could say that their embrace feels nice—natural and friendly and just like it's supposed to feel—but her body still responds to Rachel's in ways that it shouldn't when they'll never be anything more than this. It still hurts.

"I'm so glad you're here," Rachel whispers before pulling back with a happy grin. "Everyone is downstairs. They'll be so happy to see you," Rachel tells her, ushering her inside and automatically reaching out to help Quinn take off her jacket.

"I'm sure," Quinn retorts dryly. She isn't exactly looking forward to the laughter and commentary that will certainly be aimed in her direction.

"You don't have to worry," Rachel promises her, as if reading her mind. "No one will say anything. They know that you and I are fine, and that's all that matters."

Quinn raises an eyebrow at that. "Are we?" she asks, legitimately curious.

Rachel frowns. "Aren't we?" Her frown deepens, and she suddenly looks frightened. "I know you said that you needed time, but I gave that to you, and you're here now. I thought," she begins, then worriedly asks, "Am I wrong? Are we not okay?"

Quinn sighs, managing a weak smile. "We're okay, Rachel," she reassures.

Rachel's smile returns, and she wraps her arms around Quinn again. "Oh, thank God," she breathes, and Quinn brushes her nose against Rachel's soft hair, inhaling the sweet, floral scent and silently deciding that she likes this hug much better than the first one.

**xx**

Quinn receives a dozen more hugs. She's passed around the room from Mercedes to Mike, from Tina to Kurt, from Joe to Blaine, and on and on. The only person she doesn't hug is Finn. She does force a friendly greeting, only to receive a constipated frown and a grunt in response. He doesn't say anything about her episode of  _Friendzone_. Surprisingly, no one does.

She has more fun than she expects, hearing what everyone else has been up to for the last three months. Everyone but Finn, who doesn't say anything about his blink-and-you-missed-it army experience and acts like taking over the glee club for Mr. Schuester was his plan all along. Mostly, he sits quietly in a corner, brooding and casting longing glances in Rachel's direction. Rachel, for her part, doesn't pay much attention to him beyond being a good hostess.

Quinn doesn't know how to feel about this development. She's thrilled that Rachel finally seems to be over Finn, but she's selfish enough to be upset that she isn't the one that Rachel is moving on with. She's actually surprised that Rachel hasn't mentioned Brody in any of the NYADA anecdotes she relays to their friends, but Quinn guesses that it's out of respect for Finn—and maybe for Quinn as well.

She listens to Santana tell a colorful story about a persistent girl at Louisville who wanted a piece of her fine ass and how she shot her down because she has the best girlfriend ever. Quinn is marveling at how Santana can manage to be disgustingly crass and sickeningly sweet at the same time when Tina, of all people, decides to comment.

"Quinn must have dozens of girls hitting on her at Yale."

The room goes quiet, and Quinn flushes under the sudden scrutiny. "Hardly," she mumbles, hoping to shake off the attention, even though she has had more than a few offers.

"All it takes is one. Isn't that right, Q?" Santana prods with a smirk that Quinn wants to slap right off her face.

"Are you dating someone?" Mercedes asks, as eager as ever for some good gossip.

Quinn feels the hairs on her neck prickle, and her eyes unconsciously drift to Rachel, who is sitting across from her with her pink wine cooler clutched between both hands and an unreadable expression on her face. She averts her gaze and sighs. "I've been dating a little," she admits with a shrug. "Nothing serious."

She notices Rachel take a drink from the corner of her eye. "But they're hot, right?" Puck verifies with a leer, and Santana smacks him on the back of his head.

"Quinn obviously isn't comfortable talking about her personal life, Noah," Rachel chastises irritably, and every person in the room turns to look at her like she's lost her mind.

"Unless she's having it filmed," Finn mutters petulantly, voicing what everyone else is undoubtedly thinking.

"Grow up, Finn," Rachel snaps, acknowledging him directly for the first time in hours.

Quinn wants to laugh, but the tension in the room is suddenly very noticeable. She smiles thinly. "On that note," she starts to push herself up from her chair, "I think I'm going to…"

"No, don't go," Rachel interrupts, jumping up from her seat.

Quinn pauses and lifts an eyebrow. "I was just going to use your bathroom."

"Oh," Rachel blushes deeply. "Well, ah...you know where it is."

Quinn laughs and shakes her head, walking over to the stairs. Her smile dims a little more with every step she climbs. It's not that she's unhappy, exactly, but she realizes that she really doesn't want to talk about her personal life with anyone in that room. Santana already knows some of it, and she's sure Brittany does by extension, but Quinn isn't ready to talk about it with Rachel because there are still too many complications in their own relationship right now. No one else really matters enough to her.

She finds Rachel's bathroom, closes the door, and leans against the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. She doesn't look any different than the girl that graduated with all of those people last spring, but she feels like someone new—like a strange doppelganger trying to steal someone else's life. She wonders how long she can get away with hiding in the bathroom before someone comes looking for her, and then she wonders why she's thinking this way. She has no reason to hide. So she decides to make use of the facilities before heading back downstairs, except that when she eventually opens the door, Rachel is leaning against the opposite wall with her arms crossed and a pensive expression on her face.

Quinn startles, pressing a hand over her heart and calling up a weak glare. "Jesus, Rachel. Creep much?"

"Are you happy?" she asks.

Quinn frowns at her. "Um…yeah, I guess."

Rachel huffs, dropping her arms and pressing her palms against the wall behind her. "Really happy?" she asks again. "Like, you wouldn't change a single thing about your life right now, happy?"

Quinn scoffs, "I don't think anyone is ever  _that_  happy."

Rachel nods in silent agreement, glancing at the floor. "But you're moving on? Dating?"

Quinn sighs, shuffling out of the doorway and leaning against the wall next to Rachel. "A little," she confirms, rolling her head to the right to take in Rachel's profile. She's missed this—these moments where she feels like she can say anything or nothing at all and Rachel will understand her perfectly. "I'm getting there, Rachel."

Rachel nods again, licking her lips. "I was dating someone too," she says. "After Finn, I mean."

"Yeah, I've heard," Quinn admits, shifting her gaze to stare at the ceiling. "It's okay, Rach. I mean, I don't want to hear every last detail, obviously, but you don't have to pretend that you're living like a nun."

Rachel laughs sadly. "Even if I kind of am?"

Quinn glances at her sideways, brows furrowed. "Huh?"

"I'm not dating Brody anymore. He's sweet, and I care about him, but he wasn't," she trails off, shrugging. "It just didn't feel right."

"Oh," Quinn whispers, uncertain how to feel about this new revelation.

"I think I might have made a mistake," Rachel admits quietly.

Quinn tenses, turning to level Rachel with a sharp gaze. "Please don't tell me that you're thinking about getting back together with Finn."

"What? No," Rachel insists. "It has nothing to do with Finn. I don't want to jump back into a relationship with anyone right now," she clarifies, "but I…I feel like maybe I should have," she trails off, looking at Quinn uncertainly.

Quinn rolls her eyes in frustration. "Should have what, Rachel?"

Rachel dips her chin, glancing up at Quinn through her lashes. "Asked you to wait."

The world stops.

The soft thrum of music from downstairs fades into silence, and the hallway seems preternaturally still. Quinn doesn't even think she's breathing. She watches Rachel squeeze her eyes shut and inhale deeply, and Quinn recognizes her expression as the one that Rachel wears when she knows she's made a mistake and is about to offer up some rambling mess of excuses.

"I know," Rachel rushes out. "It's selfish and completely not fair to you, and to be honest, I don't even know if I can promise you anything right now, but I just," she meets Quinn's eyes imploringly. "You asked me three months ago if there was even a chance that I could feel something for you, and, now I…I think, maybe there could be."

Quinn exhales.

It's exactly what she hoped to hear.

 _Three months ago_.

She doesn't know how she feels about it now. It's not a declaration of love. It's not exactly an admission of attraction. It's not anything at all, really, except a tentative maybe—Rachel having second thoughts now that she's finally over Finn Hudso, and worrying that she let something wonderful slip away from her. It's Quinn's very own private version of  _Friendzone._

"It's too late, isn't it?" Rachel realizes sadly.

Quinn turns her head, eyes raking over Rachel's glistening eyes and her down-turned lips, and she offers a tiny smile, reaching over to graze her fingers across the back of Rachel's hand. "Nothing is too late until you're dead and buried," Quinn tells her honestly.

Rachel turns her palm over, shyly scratching at Quinn's until she manages to loosely entwine their fingers together. "What does that mean?" she wants to know. "For us?"

Quinn shrugs. "Whatever we want it to." She threads her fingers tighter between Rachel's, marveling at how well their hands fit together. "You still have those Metro North passes, don't you?"

Rachel nods, her lips curling into a hopeful smile that Quinn returns. She doesn't know exactly what this means yet, but it doesn't feel like an ending.

It feels like a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to TS for the idea.


End file.
